


your boots beneath my bed

by irridesca



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (only referenced - not shown), (the show), Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Sexual Assault, Caretaking, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hair Braiding, Inspired by Yellowstone, Reylo Evermore Flash Fic Challenge, Soft Epilogue, Strangers to Lovers, inspired by cowboy like me, montana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28331856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irridesca/pseuds/irridesca
Summary: The sky over Montana is a dangerous shade of blue the night they find her. She’s eighteen-years-old and nothing more than a swelling storm—nearly feral, with sharp teeth and years of dirt caked under her nails.When the truck pulls up next to her on a darkened road twenty miles from town, she's covered in Plutt's blood. She's stone faced as she stares at his overturned Chevy, listening to a symphony of last breaths—the truck's and his—and thinking about how she’d light him on fire if she had a match.She’ll settle on coming back here once the wreckage is clear and salting the earth.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 68
Kudos: 501
Collections: Reylo Evermore Flash Fic





	your boots beneath my bed

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my contribution to the Reylo Evermore Flash Fic Challenge :) 
> 
> I chose the song cowboy like me because I've been desperately wanting to write a ranch AU since starting/finishing Yellowstone (on Peacock if anyone's interested!), so it seemed like kismet when the album/challenge came out and this song was on it. 
> 
> Yes, I took it a bit literally. No, I am not sorry.
> 
> Please excuse any inaccuracies found here - the extent of my ranching/cowboy knowledge is everything I've learned on the internet and from watching the show.
> 
> Thanks so much to Sam, Ana, Mila and Ericka for helping me with this!
> 
> Hope y'all like it <3 let me know what you think in the comments or find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/irridesca)!

The sky over Montana is a dangerous shade of blue the night they find her. She’s eighteen-years-old and nothing more than a swelling storm—nearly feral, with sharp teeth and years of dirt caked under her nails. 

The thousand-acre ranch Unkar Plutt acquired after hustling some idiot out of the deed is the only home she’s known since her parents killed themselves in a meth lab explosion ten years ago. As her appointed guardian, he’s exploited her ever since, giving her all the shitty jobs that no one else wants because he knows she can’t say no—and she doesn’t. She breaks wild horses with her hands taped to the saddles; she sweeps the stables and cleans up manure in the dead of winter, all without a word of complaint. She doesn’t flinch when he spits in her face and snarls because she’s made a mistake, and she doesn’t argue with him when he makes her sleep with the horses after she nearly castrates his foreman for getting too handsy. 

When the truck pulls up next to her on a darkened road twenty miles from town, she’s covered in his blood. She’s stone faced as she stares at his overturned Chevy, listening to a symphony of last breaths—the truck and Plutt’s—and thinking about how she’d light him on fire if she had a match, but she’ll settle on coming back here and salting the earth once the wreckage is clear. 

There’s a serene quality to her expression as the stranger approaches, stepping slowly and lightly as if Rey’s a scared animal, ready to bolt at any sudden movement. She sees the golden _S_ that’s sewn into the black Carhartt first and almost shakes her head in disbelief. Stories about that emblem echo through the mountains of Montana and beyond—about all the rich history it carried, about what you had to do to earn the right to bear it.

When they finally move out of the spotlight, Rey can see their face for the first time. It’s not a stranger at all; it’s Leia Organa-Solo, co-owner of Skywalker Ranch and attorney general of Montana. Her twin brother Luke is the Livestock Commissioner and her husband Han is the most famous horse trainer this side of the Mississippi. They’re practically royalty, but no one bows to them in the traditional sense—they do it in ways that matter, like when the sheriff looks the other way when people show up dead on their land, or the governor votes against bills that would allow condos and subdivisions too close to their fence. 

“You one of his cowboys?” Leia asks. 

Rey’s eyes regretfully leave Plutt’s lifeless form and dart to her. Leia’s swimming in the black jacket that nearly reaches her knees, donning a white Stetson that fits snugly over the famously ornate braids that hang over her shoulders. She’s hardly over five foot, barely reaching Rey’s shoulder even with the two-inch heels on her ostrich boots. It doesn’t matter much though—her presence, that feeling of sheer _power_ vibrates off of her in waves. She may as well be seven feet tall. 

“Not anymore,” Rey says quietly. 

Leia’s eyes narrow slightly. She looks at Plutt, grimacing as her eyes trace over his blood-drenched body and face, where his tongue hangs limply out of his mouth. After a beat, she turns back to Rey. “Unemployed, then.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She looks her up and down, eyes piercing but somehow non-judgemental. 

“You hurt?”

Rey shakes her head. There’s a few pieces of glass stuck in her knees and elbows, but she’s remarkably unharmed, considering how many times the truck rolled after she jerked the steering wheel as far to the right as it would go.

“They don’t feed their cowboys over at Plutt’s Palace?” she tuts, pulling Rey back to the present. “You look like the wind’s gonna blow you away any second.” 

As if on cue, her stomach growls. It’s loud enough that Leia hears it, her eyes going wide at the sound. Rey lifts a shoulder, apathetic to her concern. 

“Not for free,” she says evenly. “And he charged me more than anyone else.” 

“Fucking bastard,” Leia grumbles under her breath. With a confident jut of her chin in Rey’s direction, she asks, “You break horses?” 

Rey nods. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her well-worn jeans, rocking back and forth on the soles of her boots, watching Leia’s gears spin. 

Finally, the woman purses her lips and says, “I just lost a cowboy to the rodeo last week. Idiot thinks he can become the next Justin McBride.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a wild Mustang that needs breakin’, and he was my guy. How about you come to the ranch with me for dinner, and then in the morning you can show me what you’ve got in the ring?” 

Rey blinks. She can still hear the hissing asphalt next to her, can still smell the burnt rubber. She can still see Plutt, getting grayer every second. 

“Are you offering me a job?” 

Leia chuckles. “Honey, I’m offering you a shot. Anyone that can make it out from under that piece of shit’s thumb deserves a chance,” she says, eyes drifting back to the truck and its dead inhabitant. 

Rey’s skin bristles at the thought of accepting. It’s a dark reflex, a skeptical knee-jerk brought on by years of fending for herself. It’s not in her nature to trust. She’s never known kindness. She’s never been the recipient of someone’s faith. 

“Room and board, plus weekly wages. Poe—one of my cowboys, he cooks for everyone else in the bunkhouse. You pitch in thirty bucks a week and get hot meals three times a day. My husband makes chili on Sundays, and the cowboys come to that, too,” Leia explains, and Rey hopes that there isn’t drool running down her chin at the thought of all this food.

There might be, considering the knowing smile that spreads over her thin lips. “How’s that sound?” 

After a deep, steadying breath through her nose, Rey sets her jaw and nods. “I think that sounds just fine, ma’am. I’d be very grateful for the opportunity.” 

Leia’s smile transforms into a grin as she jerks her head toward the truck. Rey starts to follow, but stops when Leia turns on her heel to look back at the scene.

“You wanna bury him? Crush his bones to dust?”

Rey considers both options carefully, her gaze drifting to the faded red and white exterior. She can barely see Plutt’s decaying form now, but her lip curls anyway. 

She shakes her head, turning away. 

“Let the coyotes have him.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“These might be highwaters on you, but anything’s better than those,” Leia remarks as she stands in front of Rey in her massive bathroom, nodding toward the bloody jeans that are soaking alongside her tank top, bra, and socks in the tub. 

She’s got a dark blue Montana State sweatshirt on—the material feels scratchy against her newly clean skin, like it’s not used to the lack of grime. She pulls the leggings on without a complaint when they rise far past her ankles. Leia chuckles and walks out through the eggshell french doors, signaling with a relaxed wave for Rey to follow. 

The dining room is dimly lit with ornate golden sconces around the perimeter. There’s a tablecloth and napkins folded like swans on the plates, and more silverware than Rey’s ever seen in her entire life. 

It’s a struggle not to fidget; her hands are in her lap and she’s watching silently as people start to shuffle in. A few faces she doesn’t recognize and a couple that she does—Luke sits at the head of the table with Leia to his right, Han to his left. Rey sits next to Leia, which is working out in her favor because she keeps getting whiffs of whatever’s cooking behind the swinging mahogany doors and it’s so intoxicatingly good that she has to stop her eyes from rolling back each time it hits her nostrils. She’s leaning over slightly, looking over her shoulder to see if she can sneak a peek into the kitchen through the crack in the door, when she feels a large, overpowering presence move in beside her.

When Rey looks up, she has to crane her neck nearly all the way back just to make eye contact. Her gaze travels up dark blue jeans, worn and worked in but more expensive than anything she’s ever owned, a sterling silver belt buckle, a black pearl-snap that may be made of actual pearl, and finally, a pair of eyes that remind her of tree sap. 

He’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen, with a mop of messy black waves and a jaw that won’t settle. His hands hang at his sides and she stares at them for a half-second too long, wondering how they’d feel engulfing her own. 

“You’re in my seat.” 

There’s a lurch in her heart at the sound of his voice. Her brain immediately goes to the jars of hot honey that she used to steal from the supermarket in town; she thinks about how it tastes just like his voice sounds—dripping with a spicy, scratchy sweetness that always keeps you wanting more. 

Before she has a chance to retort, to say something—anything—that will make him keep talking, Leia chimes in and says, “Ben, this is Rey. She’ll be joining us for dinner and tomorrow I’m interviewing her for Cody’s job. Rey, this is my son, Ben. He’s also the foreman, so he’ll be the one bossing everyone around tomorrow.” 

His eyes narrow slightly. “We’re lettin’ girls in the bunkhouse now?” 

“Oh, don’t be a jackass,” Rey hears Han grumble from across the table. 

Ben rolls his eyes and pulls out the seat next to her, falling into it with a _thump._ “That horse is gonna put her in the hospital,” he states, leaning forward to look past her to his mother. “You gonna pay the bills?” 

A flare of irritation unfurls in Rey’s belly. This guy is cute, but he’s also clearly a dick—one of those sexist ranchers that thinks women can’t handle the hard living that comes with being a cowboy. Her nostrils flare as she turns to face him. 

“How about you stop talking about me like I’m not here?” she spits back, and the room goes quiet. Rey hears a puff of air leave Leia’s nose, but she doesn’t look away from Ben. Her eyes are glued to his face, which is colored in shock, his brows shooting toward his hairline. After a long moment of staring each other down, a small, nearly imperceptible smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

“Where’d you come from?” he asks, voice astronomically softer, like the question is meant just for her ears. 

“I was a horse trainer at Plutt’s Palace.” 

The doors swing open a second later and two men dressed in starched, pressed button downs start to filter into the room carrying large silver platters. The smell nearly takes her out—she can’t remember the last time she ate something besides leftover scraps from the bunkhouse trash—with how delicious it is. Her eyes are glued to the large platter of steaming rolls that’s been set before her alongside two plates of soft, silky-looking butter. She wants to reach out and grab one just to feel its warmth, to press her nose against it and breathe it in, and she nearly does before realizing that no one else has moved yet. They’re all smiling at the men with their hands folded atop the table, waiting patiently as more platters appear from the kitchen. 

“How’d you get out of there?” a gravelly voice beside her asks. 

She’s been so distracted by the luxurious meal that she almost forgot the man to her right, whose voice is still soft, reminding her again of the thick, dripping honey that used to coat her tongue and light up her senses. 

“Killed him,” she says matter-of-factly, still staring at the bread in awe. 

He doesn’t respond, but keeps looking at her anyway, and his nosiness fuels her irritation with him. She turns to face him abruptly, tearing her eyes away from the heavenly sight. “He tried to shove his hand down my pants and wouldn’t stop no matter how much I screamed, so I yanked the steering wheel and crashed his truck. Guess he was killed on impact.” 

She turns her attention back to the food, where it belongs. 

A few seconds later, he asks, “Are you okay?”

Truthfully, she’s surprised at just how _okay_ she actually is. Plutt’s dead and she’s free for the first time in her entire life. Maybe she should be in shock or upset that her world has been turned upside down, but instead she feels like she’s really breathing for the first time in eighteen years, like the air surrounding her is finally free, too. 

“I’m okay enough to break that Mustang,” she says, still not looking at him, and across the table, Luke snorts. 

Ben ignores him and nods slowly, surveying her with burning amber eyes. “He’s smart and mean,” he says. “Bad combination for a horse.” 

“Sounds like he’s misunderstood,” Rey retorts, kinking her eyebrow. 

Her attention shifts to a porcelain bowl full of mashed potatoes, which now sits next to a platter of green beans covered in garlic and bacon. She watches Leia give a nod to one of the cooks when they’re finished filling glasses with iced tea, and they exit the dining room silently, retreating back to the kitchen. 

Rey’s eyes go wide as everyone starts to reach for serving spoons and platters. She doesn’t even know where to start. Her stomach is so loudly empty that she’s sure Ben can hear it as it rumbles and growls, but if he does, he doesn’t comment. He goes for the rolls first, taking one and passing the plate to her. The steam hits her face and she thinks there may actually be euphoric tears beading at the corners of her eyes. She takes her time piling fried chicken and mashed potatoes onto her plate alongside green beans and corn until there’s a mountain of food that’s spilling over the edges and threatening to stain the pristine white tablecloth.

Everyone starts to dig in, paying no mind to how much she’s served herself despite it being enough for at least two, and for a brief moment, she hesitates. She’s a stranger here, literally brought in off the street, and the only reason she isn’t covered in blood and dirt is because Leia let her take a shower and gave her a change of clothes. She’s broke, alone and unemployed, and it dawns on her right then that she probably reeks of desperation, with begging eyes and a growling belly. 

Slowly, carefully, she picks up a piece of chicken and starts to return it to the platter. There’s a lump in her throat that she’s trying to swallow down, and those tears of joy are shifting into something more tragic—the mark of a hungry, helpless girl that always needs too much. The drumstick is a few inches from her plate when she feels a hand cover her own, stopping her movement. 

Her first thought—inappropriate, devious, ridiculous—is that she was right about Ben’s hand engulfing hers. It does. She can barely see the fist she has closed around the chicken. Before she has time to react, he starts to push her hand back down, not stopping until the piece has been returned to her plate.

Rey turns to look at him, confused. Surely he must know that she’s asked for too much. 

He isn’t looking at her—he’s closing his mouth around a forkful of mashed potatoes, brow furrowed. He swallows, finally faces her, and juts his chin toward her plate. 

“Eat,” he commands gently. 

So she does.   
  


* * *

  
  


At daybreak, Rey meets the stallion that might change her life forever.

They look into each other’s eyes and she feels something kindred deep in her belly, like the dark orbs staring back at her are a window into her own wild, brutal loneliness. 

At lunchtime, Leia offers her the job. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next three months on Skywalker Ranch are equal parts vigorous and satisfying. 

Ben, Rey comes to learn extremely quickly, is a ruthless, uncharitable foreman that wastes no time with pleasantries or smiles. He sleeps in the cabin that’s a quarter mile from the bunkhouse, but there is some speculation that he may not actually sleep at all. 

He works the cowboys hard, especially the ones that have been around the longest, like Poe Dameron and Snap Wexley, who came to the ranch when they were eighteen and never left. Ben makes Snap do the bitch work that Rey used to do at the Palace—sweeping out stables and cleaning up shit—and according to Poe, it’s punishment for purposefully leaving a weakened fence untended a couple months back because he was _too tired_ , which led to a group of cattle walking off their land and wandering onto an Indian reservation where the elders were big fans of _finders keepers._ He’d cost them upwards of twenty grand just by being lazy, and Ben was never going to let him forget it. 

Rey notices early on that his attendance at dinner was an anomaly—most nights, he eats at the bunkhouse with everyone else, scooping chili or stew out of steep bowls and not saying a word. When he’s done, he chugs the rest of his beer and leaves without giving any of them a second glance. They haven’t really spoken since that first night. 

But in truth, Rey doesn’t really talk to anyone. She’s always been a bit quiet—she’s always been able to lose herself in the work, to relish in letting her mind escape while the sun beats down on her shoulders and the calluses build on her palms. The other cowboys are nice enough; Poe’s a great cook and Finn is kind—he lets her take his spot on the shower lineup so there’s a few more minutes of hot water—Snap’s obnoxious after a sixer, but he doesn’t mess with her, and that’s more than she can say for any of Plutt’s cowboys. She loves her stallion, was even given the opportunity to name him after she was able to break him and decided on Dosmit, after Raeh Dosmit, her favorite barrel racer. They’re thick as thieves, she and Dosmit, and she thinks she may already love him more than she’s ever loved anything in the world. 

It’s a good life, she’s decided, working for Skywalker Ranch.

At least, that is until she gets bucked off a new Spanish pureblood with tiger stripes on his legs and dislocates her shoulder. She thinks that’s what she’s done, anyway, because the bone is poking out and the pain radiates from her collarbone all the way down to the tips of her fingers. It doesn’t feel broken though—and she knows that she would _know_ if it was. 

She doesn’t want to cause a fuss about it. Once the pain recedes a bit, she’s sure that she can pop it back into the socket and be good as new. The last thing she needs is to look weak or delicate; no ranch would value a cowboy that was easily breakable. 

She bites back anguished groans and as she saddles up Dosmit the morning after it happens, hissing and wincing the whole way through. She doesn’t notice that Ben is already at the ring, leaning against the iron enclosure with a cup of coffee cradled in his massive hands, watching her. When they make eye contact as Rey starts to walk Dosmit out with his reins held loosely in her hand, she knows that her secret is out. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks none too kindly. 

Ben doesn’t seem like the type to take her at her word, but she tries anyway.

“Nothing.” 

His face hardens. “You can barely move that arm,” he shakes his head, pushing off the ring and walking toward her. “And don’t think that I can’t see the way it’s hanging down and that bone is sticking out. You dislocated it. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Rey stays quiet, listening to the crunch of the dirt road under his boots as they bring him closer. He’s such a big man already—then you add heeled boots and a tall black Stetson to that, and he may as well be a giant. He makes her feel small, just like the delicate, frail thing she’s trying so hard not to be. 

“It’s not that bad,” she lies. 

“Let me see it.” 

The command brooks no argument. They hold each other’s eyes—Rey’s are panicked, darting back and forth between his and searching for a way out of this, and Ben’s are steady and undaunted, practically daring her to challenge him. 

“Let me see it, Rey.” 

She sighs quietly and hands him Dosmit’s reins. A quick scan of their surroundings tells her that the others are probably still eating breakfast and sipping their coffee, enjoying the few moments of freedom they get before the day starts. Rey unbuttons the top three buttons of her shirt, just enough to stretch the neckline over her wounded shoulder. She nearly cries out when she stretches the shirt down her arm so he can see the damage, but she manages to hold back, only slightly wincing before exhaling with relief when the pressure is gone. Dawn’s low light doesn’t offer much in the way of illumination, but there’s no denying that her bone is definitely not supposed to stick out like that. 

Slowly, Ben cups the top of her shoulder, his lips folding into a tight line as he inspects. Rey breathes deeply, trying to think of anything other than the searing pain that shoots up and down her arm. His fingertips are cold against her skin, the contrast of them against the warm, angry swelling of her shoulder is enough to send a shiver down her spine. Eventually, he lets go, turning his gaze back to her. 

“It’s not a full dislocation, which means I can pop it back in,” he explains calmly, his eyes remarkably softer than they had been just minutes ago. 

Rey gulps. She’s never been the type to shy away from pain, but the thought of any friction or movement in that area right now is enough to make her feel lightheaded. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “I’ve done this before. Lots of times. Here,” he promptly starts to remove his belt, handing her the thick brown leather strip once it's fully removed from his jeans. “Bite down on this. It’ll only hurt for a few seconds and then you’ll feel a hell of a lot better. I promise.” 

There’s a comforting quality to his voice that she hasn’t heard since that first night—the night that he’d transfixed her with that honeyed gravel-like sound that seemed to rumble from the depths of his chest. Just like it had back then, it makes her want to keep him talking. Makes her want to fall asleep to the lilts and melodies that are only his. 

She obeys without a word, putting the belt between her teeth and giving him a quick nod. Ben is gentle when he reaches out again, but then his grip tightens, and Rey’s eyes screw shut tightly in anticipation. It occurs to her as his fingers trail to her back that this is the first time in as long as she can remember that anyone’s touched her without the intention to hurt. To ruin. He’s contradicting every slap and punch and grab that she’s ever felt—he’s _fixing_ her. 

“Take a deep breath,” he commands, and she listens. After a beat, he says, “On three.” 

Rey nods again, breathing hard through her nostrils and biting down as hard she can on the worn leather. 

“One, two—” Abruptly, he snaps it back in on two instead of three, which she really should’ve seen coming, and her scream is muffled by the belt. 

It feels better within seconds, and though she can’t exactly pitch a softball right now, the feeling of having any range of motion is relieving. Tears glisten in her eyes as she spits the belt out and holds it in her palm, taking deep, calming breaths as the pain starts to fade. Eventually, she turns to look at Ben and hand him the belt, a grateful smile spreading onto her chapped lips. 

“Thank you,” Rey says, and she means it. She hopes he can tell. 

If his returning smile is any indication—and oh _my_ , what a sight it is to see—he can. 

“Don’t mention it. Couldn’t have one of my cowboys out of commission for a month, could I?” he replies as he reruns his belt through the loops of his jeans. 

Rey promptly ignores the way her heart falls a little at the implication. She lets her smile become brave, lets it cover up any errant, brewing feelings that are beyond professional. 

“Of course not,” she agrees.

And that, as they say, is that. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


As the summer closes in on them with its long days and heat so thick you can almost smell it, they start to pack up the bunkhouse to make for camp. It’s a necessary evil; it saves the time of walking or riding the five miles into the mountains to get to the summer range where they’ve relocated the herd, and it keeps the cows safe from getting pink eye under the hot sun. Rey’s done it plenty of times before, but never quite so comfortably as she is now, with a cot to sleep on and a tent all to herself. 

The only part that is familiar is the lack of hygiene. By the time they’re done for the day, not one of them is willing to put in the effort to walk all the way back to the bunkhouse shower to stand under its needle-like spray that goes cold after ten minutes. They’re bone tired by the time the sun goes down, and all they want to do is eat and sleep. 

This works out fine for the first month or so, a family-size pack of baby wipes gets used between them all, but by mid-July, Rey is the type of unclean that goes deeper than skin. She wants to _scrub_ , really get in there and wash away the caked-in dirt and the smell of sour sweat. 

She takes Dosmit out some evenings after dinner, when the sun is just kissing the horizon and the heat has started to dissipate. One night after her stomach is full of barbecue chicken, she ventures further past the range than she has before and discovers something that looks like a mirage. Only upon further inspection as she approaches carefully on Dosmit’s back does she realize that it’s not a hallucination at all, but in fact it’s a spring, surrounded by tall, lush trees that nearly camouflage its existence entirely. Her jaw drops when she’s close enough to hear the water, and she nearly falls off her horse as she dismounts, too excited to strip down and feel her body immersed in water for the first time in weeks. 

Once he’s tied up, she’s peeling off her clothes and tossing them haphazardly onto the ground, toeing off her boots and setting her hat onto a sturdy looking branch before practically sprinting toward the water. Its heavenly smells and sounds make her want to dive right in, but there’s no telling how deep it is, so she runs in instead, giggling and whooping like an idiot. It stops at her chest, but she doesn’t waste time in dropping beneath the surface and staying under for as long as she can hold her breath. 

When she comes back up, she screams.

Ben is standing less than five feet away from her at the water’s edge, hands on his hips and looking at her like she just kicked his puppy. He’s also shirtless, which Rey realizes belatedly after the shock wears off, and then forces herself _not_ to think about. 

She’s neck-deep in a crouch position and she’s thanking her lucky fucking stars that she hadn’t popped up out of the water like some possessed dolphin, revealing her bare… _everything_ for Ben to see. 

“What are you doing here?” she sputters. 

Somehow, he manages to look more annoyed. “What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?” 

“I just—” she looks over to Dosmit, watching this ridiculous display, and then turns back to Ben. “We came upon it a few minutes ago and I wanted a bath. Did you know this was here?” 

He kinks an eyebrow. “I come here every other day.”

Rey scoffs. “Way to share the wealth.” 

Ben sets his jaw. Rey’s eyes stay firmly on his, not even for one _second_ drifting down to pale, mole-dotted skin and shoulders as wide as a fridge.

“Sometimes I need a minute,” is all he says. 

Her demeanor softens at his honesty. Ben’s a tough foreman, but he’s good at his job. He keeps the ranch running, keeps the cowboys working, never lets them fight with each other—and boy, do they try. Poe told her that once, he’d taken a chance on a guy fresh out of prison when they needed an extra hand, and when the guy—Hux—started to get aggressive with the other cowboys, Ben picked him up by the collar, slammed him against the bunkhouse wall and growled in his face that if he wanted to fight someone, he could fight _him_. Prison had apparently taught Hux some good sense about picking his battles, because he’d stopped messing with people after that. It hadn’t taken long for him to pack his bags and take the first bus out of town. 

Ben’s hard on them, there’s no doubt about it, but he protects them, too. 

Rey wonders absently how many things he protects them from that no one ever sees. 

“I get that,” she says softly. 

Ben nods, and then retreats to somewhere behind the trees. When he comes back, he’s no longer shirtless. The white t-shirt that’s stretched over his chest isn’t much better, but at least she can look at it more freely now. He really is beautiful—in that way that makes her think he has no idea, which only makes it more endearing. 

He’s carrying a rag and bottle of something she can’t make out, but he sets it down at the edge of the water. She swims a little closer until she can see that it’s one of those 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, body wash things, and if she wasn’t naked and mostly underwater right now, she thinks she’d probably hug him. 

“Thanks,” Rey says, almost breathless at the gesture. 

Ben just nods, and starts to turn away. 

“Ben,” she calls, and watches as he stops, turning slowly on his heel to look at her. Her hands draw idle circles in the water as she draws up a little, not revealing anything except her shoulders. His eyebrows lift expectantly. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Rey declares. “About this place.” 

His responding smile is slow and only half of what it could be. It looks unpracticed, like he doesn’t get the opportunity to do it very often. It makes her stomach flutter all the same. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next morning, Rey wakes up to the sound of hysterical laughter. 

She emerges from her tent in a tank top and shorts, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The fact that the sun is already brightening up the sky tells her that she’s showing up late to breakfast—which is something she does _not_ do. 

Everyone’s sitting around the fire with plates in their hands, slapping their knees in excitement as Poe animatedly tells a story about the time Ben scared a bunch of boy scouts that trespassed onto the ranch to ogle at a herd of buffalo. 

“Every time you tell this story, it gets worse—first it was Swedish tourists, then a South African church group, now boy scouts?” Ben chides through a mouthful of flapjack. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, then swallows his food and says, “It was a football team. College. Old enough to know better. Wanted to take the scenic route and didn’t listen to me the first time I asked them to stay on the other side of the fence.” 

“But they listened the second time,” Poe finishes, snorting. “When you fired your shotgun into the sky and scared them so bad they were calling Luke the next day to complain about—what did they call you? A hostile, murderous cowboy?” 

Ben shrugs. “Law’s the law.” 

“That’s right, grandpa. You keep those kids off our lawn,” Poe remarks with a devious smirk. His eyes dart to Rey as she takes a seat on one of the logs they’ve gathered around the fire, and he whistles something that tells her he’s both shocked and amused. “Well, look who it is. Good morning, sleeping beauty.” 

Rey rolls her eyes, reaching for a plate. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Snap spits back. “Since when are we each other’s alarm clocks?” 

“Well, your snoring usually ensures that I get no sleep at all, so maybe my subconscious was just letting me enjoy the luxury of its absence.” 

Everyone laughs, except Snap, who shakes his head and stands to leave, and Ben, whose eyes are on his plate, but Rey can see a tug at the corners of his lips. 

“No bacon left,” Finn says sadly. “Sorry friend.” He’s standing too, and places a sympathetic hand on Rey’s shoulder as he leaves. They all know how much she loves food—usually let her be the first in line to serve herself at meals—and they definitely all know that bacon is her favorite of all the foods. She’d eat it for every meal if she could. 

Her heart breaks a little at the thought of not having any, especially since they only get it once a week. Bacon’s not cheap, after all, and they definitely _are_. 

“I hate you guys,” she grumbles under her breath. 

Across from her, Ben huffs through his nose, that smile from before growing right before her eyes. Poe stands, stretches his arms out and groans dramatically before giving Rey his best shit-eating grin. “You could never,” he says, and then starts toward his tent. 

It’s just the two of them now, and Rey’s intently focused on slathering their home churned butter over two golden flapjacks. It’s quiet between them, but not uncomfortable. Ben’s plate is nearly clear, save for two pieces of bacon and a quarter of a flapjack. Rey drowns hers in syrup once she’s sufficiently packed on enough butter, and digs in. Seconds later, he’s standing and dusting off the front of his jeans. 

Rey looks up as he walks toward her, and her eyes dart to his hand, which at the moment is in a fist closed around the two perfectly crispy strips. He silently deposits them onto her plate, and she watches the motion in awe, the piece of flapjack she’d been chewing stilling inside her mouth. 

She opens her mouth to protest but Ben shakes his head before she can. 

“Eat,” he commands gently. 

And so she does. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s unfortunate how often Rey gets food on her clothes and in her hair. She knows that it’s because she eats too fast, too excitedly, shoving food into her mouth with abandon, no care in the world for manners or smooth digestion. 

It’s how she ends up with the tip of her ponytail covered in syrup, and by the end of the day, it’s stiff to the touch and she keeps getting whiffs of it every time the wind blows against her hair. 

And the thing is, she knows that she can go to the spring. She still has Ben’s shampoo bottle that left her smelling pleasantly like a boy (and if she inhaled a little bit harder thinking that that’s how it would smell if she was pressed against him, well that was her business, thank you very much), and she’s pretty sure she remembers how to get there. 

But Ben said he goes every other day, and—God help her—she wants to wait until she knows for sure that he’ll be there. 

If she was asked, she wouldn’t be able to explain why, or what her endgame is. All she knows for sure is that when he’s around, there’s something in her chest that feels lighter. There’s something in her gut that makes her feel seen—makes her feel taken care of, and as foreign and strange as that feeling is, it’s intoxicating, too. 

She wants to chase it. To bask in it. 

So she goes to sleep with sticky hair and waits. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The hours of work pass torturously slow; even mending the fence near the southside of the ranch—a job that Rey would normally be happy to complete—is about as exciting as watching water boil, and it feels like no matter how many barbed wires she bolts into the posts, the daylight refuses to dim. 

When Poe finally bangs the cowbell, it sounds like salvation. 

Rey’s stomach has been growling for the better part of the afternoon and she’s gotten grumpier with each second that passes, nearly punching Snap in the throat when he got after her for not screwing in a wire tight enough. 

They eat grilled cod and spicy boiled potatoes in comfortable silence, all tired as dogs from the long, blisteringly hot day. 

But when Ben stands, scrapes off his plate, and excuses himself for the evening, Rey has to resist the urge to bolt after him. Not that anyone would suspect anything—not there even _was_ anything to suspect—but better to be lowkey about it anyway, since she doesn’t want to have to field questions from the peanut gallery for the rest of the summer. 

She waits an appropriate amount of time before leaving, adjourning to her normal evening ride like she does most nights, and the group is none the wiser as she and Dosmit trot away, a giddy ball of nerves unfurling deep in her belly. 

It’s not like she knew what to expect when she got to the spring—she’d envisioned a few different scenarios, all with varying levels of nudity—but she sure as hell didn’t think she’d roll up and find Ben with his back to her, combing his hands through his wet hair and _braiding_ it. French braiding it, to be exact.

The list of mysteries surrounding Ben Solo continues. 

Perhaps, Rey muses, it will never end. 

The water stops right at his hips, right below the dimples on the small of his back, a place that she can’t seem to look away from. She grabs the shampoo from her saddlebag and starts to undress, leaving her bra and underwear on this time as to not freak him out—she already knows she’s encroaching on his alone time in his private eden; she doesn’t want to push it by showing up unannounced _and_ buck naked. 

She approaches slowly, cautiously, and watches as his hands slow their efforts. His shoulders set slightly, and she sees his head shake. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you about the curious cat?” he says, not turning around.

Rey smiles, still moving in. “Good thing they’ve got nine lives then, huh?” 

His hands fall to his side as he slowly turns, and the butterflies were dancing in her belly on the way here are swarming now as the softness of his face is revealed to her. 

He’s already smiling, and she’s just arrived. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Rey purses her lips and nods, letting a moment pass. She looks back at him and asks sincerely, “Do you want me to go?” 

He waits a beat, and then shakes his head. He swallows, and the bob in his throat as he does is enough to weaken her knees. 

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you. For the bacon.” 

That sweet, slow smile turns quickly into a smirk. “Don’t mention it.” 

“You’re always doing that, you know.” 

“Doing what?” 

Another beat passes, and Rey takes in a deep breath through her nostrils. 

“Looking out for me.” 

He’s holding her eyes, refusing to let her break the direct contact. It feels like he’s burning into her, like Superman’s lasers are about to shoot out any second. Rey feels immobile under his gaze. 

“I look out for everyone,” he says evenly. 

Rey nods. “I know you do.” 

She backs up a little and smiles at him—grins, really—the toothy kind that makes her top lip disappear and takes up nearly all of her face. 

“But thank you anyway,” she says, waving her hands around in the water. “I’ve never had anyone look out for me before. It feels nice.” 

He doesn’t respond right away, so Rey turns from him, finally breaking the contact. It feels like she’s been holding her breath, the way she almost gasps from the impact. 

She pulls out her hair tie gracelessly, hissing as it gets stuck in the knots of her matted locks, and secures it around her wrist. There’s no hope for running her fingers through her hair as is, not with all the clumps created by the syrup, so she decides to just go under and dunk it all. When she emerges, Rey squirts a glob of shampoo into her palm before tossing the bottle in Ben’s general direction with a sing-songy _thank you_. 

She piles it onto the ends of her hair, grimacing at how hardened it has become over the past thirty-six hours. After doing everything she can think of to rid it of the sugary substance—even going as far as rubbing it between her thumbs like a stick she’s using to start a fire—she attempts to run her fingers through it again, only to be met with painful stubborn knots that start at the top of her head and have zero give. 

Minutes, maybe _hours_ tick by as she picks at each one, painfully untying every tiny strand, and she isn’t even a quarter of the way through before her arms start to get tired and she groans, annoyed at herself for waiting this long to run a brush through her unkempt mane. She literally grooms her horse better than she grooms herself, and she’s paying the price for it in pain and irritation right now. 

It’s tedious and terrible enough of a task that she almost forgets where she is and who she’s with. That is, until his voice surprises her from behind where she’s standing, although much closer than he had been when she first got there.

He’s close enough that she can see the ripples he creates with his body as he moves forward. He’s close enough that she can _just_ feel his breath hit her skin as he speaks. 

“May I?” he asks, so softly she nearly misses it. 

Rey’s hands still and she swallows thickly. He _had_ been french braiding his hair when she arrived, though she noticed he let it unravel as they spoke. In any case, he was clearly much more of an expert on haircare than she’d ever hope to be, so she lets her hands fall to her sides and says, equally as soft, “Sure, yeah.” 

The moment his rough, work-torn hands make their way into her hair, it’s like time stops. His fingertips are soft against her scalp as he massages the foamy soap into her skin, every caress and stroke unhurried and gentle. Rey can’t stop herself from letting her eyelids fall shut, and it takes everything she has to not fall back into him and rest her head against his solid, sturdy chest. 

When he scrapes his nails across the top of her neck, an unintelligible sound escapes her throat. There was no stopping it—it was like some embarrassing reflex that she can’t take back, a bell that absolutely cannot be unrung. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, hoping it’s enough. 

Ben’s deep, rumbling chuckle sets her mind at ease, lets her fall back into the bliss that is having him untangle all her angry knots. 

Eventually, he does. It takes no short amount of time, but he starts to run his fingers through it all without getting caught, and Rey sighs with relief at the feeling. 

When he starts to pull together strands and fold them into each other, she smiles. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, though she already knows the answer. 

His lips are nearly touching the shell of her ear as he says, “Looking after you.” 

Rey shivers. He uses his nails more liberally now as he braids with practiced ease, and she isn’t even trying to stop her eyes from rolling back, relishing in the touch that’s soft but rough simultaneously. It’s like in the few months that she’s known him, he’s unknowingly made up for a lifetime of not being touched. A lifetime of not knowing how good it feels to have someone’s skin against your own. 

“It feels good,” she breathes. He tugs a little harder. “ _Ah._ ”

“Does it?” 

“Mhm,” she mumbles, lost in the feeling. 

“How good?” 

Rey swallows again, letting her eyes slowly flutter open. He’s gotten to the nape of her neck, nearly done with his task, and her heart sinks slightly at the thought of this ending.

“Like I don’t want you to stop.” 

He doesn’t respond as he braids the tail, then reaches down to pull her wrist up so he can pluck her hair tie. He secures the braid quickly, and then tugs slightly on the tail before pulling her shoulder back gently so she’s facing him head on. 

Face-to-face, she’s realizing how intimidating it is to be the object of his attention. 

It’s not like she hasn’t experienced sex before—she grew up in a bunkhouse, for God’s sake—but the only boys her age that came through the Palace were delinquents, future felons that smiled pretty but fucked like they rode their horses—sloppily. 

She’s definitely never _enjoyed_ sex before. And she’s been too paranoid about the lack of privacy to ever try to get herself off, so she’s lived eighteen years without an orgasm, and frankly, she hasn’t really wondered what she’s been missing until right this second. 

Because if this feeling that’s buzzing like static between them, this tension that seems to be thick enough to touch is _any_ indication, she thinks she might actually like sex. 

And orgasms. 

But in reality, she’s inexperienced and ignorant, and all she can do is hope that he won’t mind—if sex is what he wants, anyway. All he’s done so far is braid her hair, for all she knows he could wade away right now and write this off as another favor he’s paid her. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead, his eyes travel from hers down her neck and chest, pausing for a brief moment at where her nipples are as hard as the pebbles between her toes. The water stops just below the waistline of her underwear, revealing the pink material and the thin straps that could only belong to a thong. 

He swallows, and finds her gaze again. Ben takes a step forward, almost closing the distance between them. Their chests are nearly touching, and they’re both breathing a bit heavier than they were before. Rey can feel all of her _want_ radiating heat deep in her tummy, shooting pangs of arousal down through her soaking center. 

She’s thankful that they’re already wet—if he saw the wet patch that would form on her underwear otherwise, she might’ve died from embarrassment. He’s barely even touched her and she’s practically _dripping_ for him. 

“I like it too, you know,” he says. 

Rey’s head tilts slightly, urging him on. 

Another half-step, and now they’re pressed against each other. He’s so _hot_ against her, like a furnace is burning beneath his skin. She sighs at the contact. 

“Taking care of you.” 

Rey’s head is tilted back enough that she can look him in the eye, and a serene smile spreads over her lips at his words. “How much?” she parrots back to him. 

“Let me show you.” 

He’s sinking a little and she feels his hands grip right below her ass as he lifts her up, pulling her into him. Rey squeaks and he smirks as her legs wrap tightly around his waist, and it occurs to her only then that he’s definitely naked. She can feel the tip of his cock poking against her center, and she nearly moans at the sensation—and at the fact that he’s hard, and he’s big. Really big. 

It’s not surprising, even though she is currently in a state of semi-shock. Literally everything about this man is oversized. It would be strange if his dick wasn’t massive.

He walks a few paces toward the water’s edge, where it’s shallow enough that they can sit down and not be submerged. He lays her against the soft, mossy pebble floor gently, like she’s delicate and breakable, except now she doesn’t mind so much. In his arms, she’s okay with being vulnerable like that, understanding more each day that if she does break, he’s going to be there to put her back together. 

Ben hovers over her for a few seconds before leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. His lips are plush and warm, and she wants to chase them as he pulls back, but he doesn’t make her wait. He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks and then her eyelids, and then trails hot, open-mouthed ones across the line of her jaw and down her neck. Rey is panting now, her hips bucking against him of their own accord. 

The drenched material of her thong is the only thing between them now, and when his lips finally land on hers, she wishes they would just dissolve into nothingness. His mouth is tentative at first, but then he traces the seam of her lips with his tongue and _moans_ when she opens up for him. 

Rey’s hands fly up to Ben’s hair, a satisfied sigh sounding in her throat as she finally feels it between her fingers. She scratches his scalp just like he’d done to her, and he rewards her by pushing his hips against hers, rubbing his leaking cock against her clothed cunt. Rey breaks the kiss and moans, pressing her forehead against his. 

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you stole my seat at dinner,” he says against her mouth, breathing hard. 

“I thought you hated me that night.” 

Ben laughs deep in his chest. The sound makes her wetter. 

“You know what they say. Thin line.” 

Rey rolls her eyes and smiles, pulling his lips back to hers. 

One of his hands trails down her body until he reaches the seam of her panties, which are still halfway submerged. He lifts her easily, pulling her up until she’s almost completely out, and the cool evening air hitting her wetness makes her gasp. 

He looks down to where his hand is tracing the elastic, just barely dipping inside. He stares for a moment, seemingly transfixed, and then looks up at her. 

“Tell me you want this,” he says, two fingers rubbing against the top of her pubic bone. 

Rey nods vehemently. “I want this.” 

Slowly, gently, he leans down to kiss her again, and at the same time, his hand reaches fully into her underwear as he cups her mound, a groan breaking from his lips as his fingers dip into her. He breaks away from her mouth and gasps. 

“You do, don’t you?” he asks, eyes burning into hers. “You’re fucking soaked, sweetheart.” 

She nods again.

“All that’s for me?” 

“For you,” Rey breathes. 

“Jesus Christ,” Ben sighs, his face nuzzling hers as he explores her, fingers tracing over her labia and using just the tips to dip into her hole, moaning again when he finds the source of her dripping cunt. “I want to fuck you in a bed, but I don’t know if I care anymore—” he trails off, breathing hot and heavy in her ear.

His thick, wondrous fingers find her clit, and Rey sees stars. 

“Oh my god,” she wheezes, back arching. Ben uses his other hand to pull the cups of her bra down, letting her breasts rest atop the soggy material, and then he’s pressing a trail of kisses down her neck and over her clavicle and sternum. He lowers his mouth onto one of her nipples and Rey cries out, the myriad of sensations overwhelming. 

He slides one finger inside of her as he works his mouth, and it pinches at first—the sheer size of it—but the feeling quickly transforms into a deep, aching pleasure as he pumps it in and out of her slowly, using the pad of his thumb to rub tight circles over her clit. Rey’s head falls back against the dirt, her mouth open in a silent cry. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks with his mouth hot against her breast. The endearment makes her wetter; the way his voice is all tied up with want is making her insides vibrate with heat. 

She nods, biting her lip. He adds another finger, and it goes in smoothly, painlessly. 

“Use your words.” 

Rey swallows hard and manages, “I feel you everywhere. I never want you to stop.” 

Ben moans against her skin, his forehead falling into her chest. “ _Rey_ ,” he sighs. 

He doubles down on his efforts, moving to her other nipple and alternating between licking, sucking, and biting while he plays her pussy like a fucking fiddle, and Rey is a babbling mess beneath him, not quite understanding the feeling that’s building up deep within her core, spreading to the small of her back and sending goosebumps all over her skin. 

Ben lifts up, finds her mouth again and gives her a filthy, wet kiss that turns into them just breathing each other in as he fucks her with his hand, and her last vestiges of sanity are ringing alarms in her head, yelling at her that she’s about to come. 

She’s about to experience her first orgasm, and Ben’s going to give it to her. 

It’s like he can hear her thoughts, because he releases her mouth and presses his cheek against hers, all so he can breathe hotly in her ear as he asks, “Are you gonna come all over my fingers, Rey? I can feel you clenching.” 

Rey’s brows furrow as he pushes deeper inside, crooking them in this very specific way that’s got her gasping, and it’s so good that it nearly verges on painful. She nods over and over again, lost for words, a broken scream the only sound she’s capable of making. 

“Come for me, baby. Come so I can fuck you.” 

He presses harder onto her clit and Rey loses it, thrashing in his hold as the most indescribable pleasure spreads from the bottom of her spine through her every iota, like he’s lit up every single piece of her from the inside out. It’s strong enough that it courses through her arms and legs, causing them all to shake, vibrating out of her control as her mouth rips open with a scream that threatens to scrape her throat if she keeps it up. It doesn’t matter now though—at the top of this world they’ve built together, there is nothing but good, warm, soft pleasure. She clenches around his fingers over and over until she goes limp, and then and only then does she open her eyes. 

“Holy shit,” he rasps. “That was fucking hot.” 

“I’ve—” she attempts, but falls short, swallowing hard as another shockwave passes through her. “I’ve never—done that before.” 

Gently, he asks, “Never come on someone’s fingers?” 

Rey shakes her head. “Never come.” 

Ben’s eyes immediately soften, his entire body morphing into something other than this bossy, dominating presence that had excited her so much. Now, he’s more human, more earth-like and present, and from the look on his face, she can tell that he’s feeling something deep inside. She reaches her arms around his neck, encircling him and pulling him closer so she can kiss him softly. 

“I’m glad it was you,” she whispers into his lips. 

“Oh, Rey,” he sighs, his eyes sliding shut. 

His hand reaches down again, only this time he’s pulling her underwear down, past her hips and over knees that she bends to give him easier access. When they’re at her ankles, she kicks them off, uncaring of where they land. 

“Fuck,” he swears, looking behind him at something Rey doesn’t see. When he turns back to her, his expression is almost pained. “I don’t have a condom.” 

Relief blooms in her chest. “I’m on the pill,” she explains. “Periods aren’t exactly conducive to ranch life.” 

Ben’s nostrils flare. “You sure?” 

Rey nods. “I’m sure.” 

“Okay, then.” 

He kisses her again, deep and dirty, and reaches down between them to align himself with her aching center. The thick tip nudges in slowly, and Rey’s eyes screw shut tightly, barely avoiding a full out wince as he pushes inside. 

“You okay?” Ben asks, and she opens her eyes to see him searching her face, concerned. 

“Yeah, it’s just—it’s been a while and you’re big. But don’t stop, please.” 

Ben flexes his jaw and nods, pressing his forehead against hers as he slides in another inch, breathing hard through his nose. One of Rey’s hands moves down to cup his cheek. His eyes close, and he pushes again slowly until he’s fully inside to the hilt. 

They both sigh at the feeling. Even though it feels like he might split her open, she knows that she’s right at the precipice of something much bigger than this temporary discomfort. He pulls out almost halfway and slides back in, coating himself with her wetness and going in easier this time, and Rey relishes in being right. It already feels like something she might get addicted to, being stretched out like this on Ben’s cock. 

“God damn,” he breathes, rocking into her with shallow thrusts. “I knew you’d feel good.” 

Rey moans, head falling back again. “It feels—” she stammers, licking her lips. She can’t possibly continue, not when he pulls out almost entirely and then pushes all the way back in with newfound force. 

“Tell me, baby,” he says. “Tell me how it feels to have my cock inside you.” 

Her eyes roll back as he starts to pound into her, each thrust harder than the last. 

“ _Ah_ —oh, fuck,” she manages, and then, “It feels like you’re ruining me—like no one’s ever going to make me feel this good again.” 

Ben turns his face to kiss her palm, and Rey idly pushes the hair out of his face. She’s in a million different places at once—on earth and above it, with Ben and outside of her own body, watching herself get fucked good and thoroughly, watching the heated pride cross over Ben’s face as he continues to pound into her and claim her as his own. 

“Maybe I want to ruin you,” he admits shakily. “Maybe I want to keep you all to myself.” 

Rey nods at that, she can’t help it—it’s a knee jerk reaction to having his cock so deep inside of her she can almost taste it, combined with the feeling of being _wanted_ , needed, cared about—for the first time in her life. He’s everything that she’s never had, and she never wants to leave his side. 

When she comes back to herself slightly, Ben’s thrusts temper, and for a moment, they just stare into each other’s eyes as he moves inside of her. She feels herself clenching around him, growing wetter with each second that passes as they connect like this, open and raw and beautiful. Ben’s mouth falls open at a particularly hard squeeze around his cock, and she watches in heady awe as his eyes roll back. 

“I want to take care of you, too,” she tells him, all of her truths unbound. “You do such a good job— _oh,_ ” she sighs, shutting her eyes through a particularly delicious thrust. “Taking care of everyone else. You need someone to—someone to look out for you.” 

He stills, and Rey’s eyes snap open, thinking she’s gone too far with her confession, but she finds him staring at her like a puzzle he wants to spend the rest of his life trying to solve. Perhaps it’s a trick of the twilight, but she thinks she can see tears welling in his amber eyes. 

“Will you let me?” she asks, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. 

After a long moment of silence, he nods. “Yeah,” he says, restarting his movements. “Yeah, baby. I’ll let you take care of me for as long as you want.” 

Rey nods, too, and then lets herself get lost in him again, in the sheer bliss that accompanies his cock sending an aching pleasure through her every nerve. 

When he reaches down to pluck her clit, she moans, loud and uninhibited. She’s dangerously close within seconds, replacing her arms around his neck and holding onto him as tight as she can. Ben’s looking at her still, studying her face as it twists up in pleasure, and there’s a hint of smile on his lips when she starts to come again.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he coos. “Feel it. Feel all of it. Come on my cock.” 

He fucks her hard and steady until he doesn’t—until his hips start to stutter and his breath starts to come in short pants, and Rey holds him through it, runs her fingers through his hair as many times as it takes to let him know that she’s _here_ , she’s with him—he’s not alone. Neither of them are. 

“Rey— _baby_ —oh, shit.” He leans his forehead against hers as his movements become erratic, and then he lets out a long, satisfied sigh, his thrusts slowing but going deeper still as he pumps her full of his come, as if he’s trying to push it as far into her as it can go. He collapses on top of her after a few seconds, panting and pressing sloppy kisses into the tops of her breasts and her collarbone. 

There’s a dark, errant thought dancing through the back of her brain as they lay there, breathing silently and recovering, that maybe this isn’t what she thinks it is. Like maybe everything they agreed upon in the throes of passion was just that—sweet nothings said between lovers that didn’t carry any weight in the real world. 

But then Ben picks up his head from her chest and looks at her, a sheepish smile on his face. He pushes a stray piece of hair that fell from her braid behind her ear, and leans forward to kiss the tip of her nose. 

“Come to my tent tonight,” he says sweetly, rubbing soft circles into her temple.

And so she does. 

  
  


**— ONE YEAR AND THREE MONTHS LATER —**

  
  


The best thing about living in the foreman’s cabin is the wraparound porch that’s home to two big, squeaky rocking chairs. It’s Rey’s favorite place to sit in the morning with her coffee, relishing in the silence of the ranch before the day breaks and the work starts. It’s been a little over three months since she moved in, and every second of it has been perfect. The kind of perfect that makes you suspicious, almost, except Rey doesn’t, because it’s Ben, and she learned a long time ago that Ben was always going to be too good to be true, but that didn’t mean he was any less _hers_.

And for the record, she’s so in love with him that even the moments that others would probably deem imperfect are still perfect to her—like when he leaves water all over the floor after washing the dishes, or forgets her favorite creamer at the store, or when he traps her under the covers and dutch ovens her like he’s twelve and laughs about it the whole way to the bunkhouse. She almost killed him for that one.

But still—it’s perfect because she would rather do those imperfect things with him than a lifetime of real perfect things with anyone else. 

The porch is where he finds her on a chilly Thursday in September, and it’s the first time they’ve seen each other after a week of being apart. He’s been at a showcase in Billings and an auction in Livingston that Luke _insisted_ he go to, and she’s been quietly miserable without him. It’s the longest they’ve been apart since the night they met. 

Rey sets her iced tea on the stool next to her chair and rushes down the stairs the second his truck pulls up, and she’s launching herself into his arms before his feet even hit the dirt. She peppers kisses all over his face and neck and ears, and she breathes him in hard through her nostrils, nearly crying at the feeling of him in her arms again. 

“Hey, baby,” he sighs happily, squeezing his arms around her waist. 

“I missed you so much,” she whines.   
  


Ben chuckles, pulling back so he can kiss her properly. After a few seconds, he breaks away with a grin. “I missed you, too.” 

They eat dinner on the porch—an easy chili that Rey’s been perfecting for a while—and when they’re done, she climbs into his lap as he rocks back and forth in his chair. 

Ben’s hands are sitting on top of her thighs, holding her gently as she leans forward to kiss him. They stay like that for a good while, relearning each other’s mouths, and Rey’s mouth detaches abruptly from his to let out a moan when she feels him stiffen within his jeans. She rocks against him, back arching and head falling back. 

The friction is delicious—they’re both caught up in it, Ben’s head falling back against the wooden back of the chair as his eyes slide shut. 

“Baby,” he breathes. “I missed you so much.” 

Rey looks at him, feels her insides go warm at the sight of him lost in pleasure. He eventually opens his eyes to find hers, and they both stare at each other for a few seconds, smiling like the lovesick idiots they are. 

“I missed you calling me baby,” Rey says softly. 

Ben grins. “Did you?” 

She nods. “I realized though—I don’t really call you anything. You’re just Ben,” she murmurs, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. “My Ben.” 

“I love being your Ben.” 

Rey smiles. “I love it, too. But I want to call you something—” she purses her lips. “What’s it gonna be? Sweetheart? Honey? Pumpkin? Sugarplum?” 

Ben laughs that beautiful, intoxicating, deep laugh of his, and Rey feels her chest lighten at the sound. She loves him so much. 

He sighs, and his hands reach up to cradle her face. 

“How about husband?”

Rey’s heart seems to short circuit; tears instantly start welling in her eyes. Her nostrils flare as she nods and asks, barely intelligible, “Really?” 

Ben nods, too, his own tears turning his eyes glassy. 

And so—three months, two rings and one wedding later—she does. 


End file.
